


Answer blog short stories

by thoughtsandtealeaves



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2019-11-18 17:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsandtealeaves/pseuds/thoughtsandtealeaves
Summary: A collection of very short story replies from my Sebastian ask blog (akumadeshitsumon on tumblr). If they get longer than a page or so I'll post them separately. This will be updated as I answer more asks.1. Sebastian finds a kitten2. Sebastian cleans up after the circus members attack Phantomhive manor3. Sebastian has a run-in with two Jehova's witnesses





	1. Sebastian finds a kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: *a tiny black kitten mews cutely*

  
London in the rain. Not the most appealing of sights, especially not to one who was about to step out into the storm to run errands. Sebastian sighed as he opened the door to the sound of water streaming down the drain pipes and gurgling in the gutters outside of his master’s townhouse. Why did it always have to rain in this forsaken country?  
  
He had barely gone three streets down the block when something caught his attention. It was hard to distinguish with the rain coming down hard around him, but surely such a voice could only be…  
  
Sebastian veered right into the alley, and sure enough, there it was - a tiny kitten, black as soot, mewling pathetically and shivering in the cold.  
  
Any thought of his master’s errands immediately left Sebastian’s mind. He knelt beside the small animal, shielding it from the worst of the downpour with his body. “Hello,” he said, smiling down kindly. “How did you end up here all alone? Where is your family?”  
  
No reply came, of course. How could it? A cat is, after all, just a cat. But to Sebastian, the small mewling sounds were clear as crystal. “You were abandoned? Oh my, we cannot let that happen. Come, I will take you home with me. We must make sure that my master does not see you, but you shall have a place by the hearth in the kitchen, and I believe there is still some fresh fish.” He picked up the cat, which struggled for a moment before being placed in the wide inside pocket of the demon’s coat, safely shielded from the rain.


	2. Sebastian cleans up the trash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Dear Sebastian, You asked why I asked if you kissed Beast. Well, it may seem strange but I'm glad that you did because I don't think anyone had ever kissed her before (or bedded her). It makes the fact that she died a bit easier to accept. (She is my favorite female character.) You listened to her, kissed her and allowed her to feel loved. You gave her a gift. She was lonely and got to feel your embrace. Please place some roses wherever her remains are. [Reply with a mini story please.]

_February 1889_

The day of the clean up after the catastrophic downfall of Noah’s Ark Circus started out almost obscenely beautiful. Instead of the usual gloomy, overcast English weather, which might have better suited the atmosphere, the skies were crystal clear. Birds were singing, and a slight breeze moved the leafless branches of the trees around Phantomhive manor. The air was crisp with frost, and the morning dew had frozen over on the lawn, making every blade of grass sparkle in the weak winter sunlight.  
  
Sebastian surveyed the damage done to the East Wing of the house by the Phantomhive servants and sighed deeply. To be sure, the servants had done what they had been hired to do. They stopped an invasion force from taking over the manor and injuring miss Elizabeth, and without any casualties on their side. And yet… blowing up an entire wing of the house was just taking it entirely too far in Sebastian’s professional opinion. He had already berated the servants upon returning to the manor, but of course the bulk of the cleanup was left to him.  
  
Clearing out the rubble was slow going, especially consider the fact that miss Elizabeth was still around. Instead of quickly repairing the damage, Sebastian was forced to go around at a human pace, and it was already getting on his nerves. He had first disposed of the corpses, of course, but there was a lot of other trash remaining on site, so the first few hours were spent separating this from the bigger building materials that were to be recycled or disposed of elsewhere.  
  
There were all kinds of objects hidden in the ruins - singed pillows, scattered fabric, pieces of furniture that had not burned up entirely. There were remainders of the clothes belonging to the circus members, which Sebastian dunked into the trash without a second glance. There was even a shattered vase with the sad remnants of a bouquet of roses, bedraggled from the explosion and frozen overnight. Sebastian picked up the roses and considered them before dropping them into the trash bag also. They came to rest on top of the singed scarf that Beast had worn not all that long ago.  
  
There was no romanticism in pointless destruction. The deaths of the circus members had been as meaningless as the premature end of these flowers, and yet as inevitable as the cycle of the seasons. They had taken their fate into their own hands, and had paid the price for doing so.

Sebastian tied up the trash bag and tossed it with the others, which would later be taken out and destroyed. He had no time to consider the pointless waste of human lives that had taken place here. If humans wished to destroy themselves over misinformed ideals, that was none of his business. His business was only with his master, and whomever tried to stand in the way of that would be taken care of.

  
After all, it is the job of a butler to take care of the trash.

 


	3. Sebastian runs into a Jehova's witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: *Jehovah witness knocks on the door* Good sir, are you aware of your natural connection with the Divine father and what potential lies in your hands as His child? What, do you believe, is the significance of your existence in the greater scheme of things?

_London, 1889._

It was a grey and rainy afternoon in London, as was so often the case. Today the rain did not pour, but rather came down from the sky in a dismal drizzle that did not look like much, but nevertheless left any that spent more than a few minutes in it soaked to the bone. Animals and humans alike hurried along the streets, and even though darkness had not yet descended onto the city there was a distinct grey tone to the light that made it to Earth through the thick layer of clouds.  
  
Sebastian noticed all of this through the townhouse’s kitchen window, which was covered in hundreds of tiny drops of water. This made it rather hard to see outside, but only a glance was needed to know what the situation was like. It was very fortunate that his master's plans for the afternoon did not involve any outside activities, because Sebastian was not keen to expose himself to the cold and the wet. It would not make him sick, of course, but even so it was deeply unpleasant.  
  
There was a knock at the kitchen door, distracting Sebastian from his musings about the weather. It was quite common for deliveries to be made around this time of day, so Sebastian did not think twice about opening the door. What he saw there was not quite what he had expected. Instead of an unhappy delivery person carrying heavy crates or riding a cart stacked high with barrels, he found two bedraggled looking humans in bland grey clothing, looking entirely too cheerful for people who had so apparently spent all afternoon in the rain. Water was quite literally dripping out of their clothes, and when one of them shifted position Sebastian could have sworn he heard water slosh in their shoes.  
  
Before he could ask the pair what their purpose was, one of the men launched into a speech at astonishing speed. It was impossible to get a word in edgeways, so Sebastian was forced to listen as the man expanded on the history of Christianity, the true Christian faith, and most of all why joining their movement would apparently save Sebastian's soul from the fires of hell and lead him to salvation. It was such a torrent of words that Sebastian was momentarily stunned, which was most likely the effect that the man had intended.  
  
As soon as he realised what was happening, it took most of Sebastian's willpower not to roll his eyes. Terrific. Religious fanatics, who had ironically chosen the least likely household in all of London to pitch their story to. Sebastian had heard stories of such new and audacious groups coming over from the colonies, but this was the first time he had encountered them in the wild. They certainly seemed persistent - the front one was still talking, clearly passionate about the topic of divine salvation, while the one at the back nodded emphatically at every definitive statement. The topic of hell also came up, though it was not described in a very favourable manner. Sebastian almost laughed out loud at the inaccuracies in the man's story about hell, but managed to keep his face straight until the man ended his impassioned plea with some questions.   
  
"Good sir, are you aware of your natural connection with the Divine father and what potential lies in your hands as His child? What, do you believe, is the significance of your existence in the greater scheme of things?"  
  
Sebastian's lip twitched, but he managed not to smile. Despite his annoyance he could not help but be amused at the irony of this entire situation. "I am very aware of my connection to your Christian God," he replied, showing but the merest hint of a smirk on his face. "As for the significance of my existence, as a mere butler I rarely have time to contemplate such matters. Now if you would excuse me, I have some work that I have to complete."  
  
He made to shut the door, but the man who had not yet spoken had the audacity to stick his foot between the door and the doorframe. There was a thunk and a grunt of pain, but the man did not remove his foot, forcing Sebastian to open the door yet again. "Good sir, please reconsider! The well-being of your soul is more important than any earthly work." A hand was thrust through the half-open door, holding a rather soggy pamphlet entitled ' _Zion's Watch Tower and Herald of Christ's Presence_ _'._ A quick glance revealed it to be more of the same claptrap.  
  
These people were really getting on his nerves, but they would not go away. The louder of the two was now quoting passages from the pamphlet in Sebastian's hand, attempting to keep Sebastian from fully shutting the door. His efforts were, of course, entirely futile, as Sebastian was much stronger than any human being could hope to be, but these humans were quite persistent. Sebastian had a feeling that even if he were to shut them out they would not give up, and so he decided on a more extreme countermeasure.  
  
So far Sebastian had been keeping the door half-open, blocking the two men from entering the house, but now he flung it wide, which took both men completely by surprise. The one whose foot had been blocking the door took a step backwards, and the other one who had been holding the door was forced to let go in a hurry. He stumbled and almost fell, but somehow righted himself again just in time.  
  
Sebastian drew himself up to his full height in the doorway, which grew inexplicably darker with every passing second. Without saying a word he held up the pamphlet, stared the loud man dead in the eyes, and lit the soggy paper on fire in his hand. The man's face blanched. Sebastian winked. "A word of advice," he said, as the two men seemed momentarily frozen in fear. "You might wish to properly inform yourselves on whom you are speaking to about heaven and hell before you start your little lectures. A moment or two of reflection may serve you well in the futue. Have a good evening, gentlemen."  
  
As he closed the door he heard the two men scramble down the steps and take off down the street, frantically chanting their prayers in ever rising voices. Sebastian shook his head. Honestly, he should probably not have done that, but it might be for the better. He was reasonably certain that these people would never come back to this house after that display, and they would probably warn their colleagues in the city as well. Sure, there was a very slim chance that they would return to perform an exorcism, but Sebastian had experience with such occasions. In fact, he almost hoped that they would try. It would be an amusing break to the grueling routine of life in the London townhouse.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I do not myself condone the burning of religious texts in this manner. I am also not trying to make a personal statement about anyone's religion. Sebastian is a demon who is not a big fan of Christianity, that is where this story stems form. I hope it does not offend anyone on a personal level.


	4. The legend of the headless horseman - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short flashback to Sebastian's distant past.

**The legend of the headless horseman**

__  
The Dark Ages,_ _s_ _omewhere in the English countryside._ _

There is an air of beauty to Autumn, especially in the countryside. By day there are gorgeous displays of autumn colours on the trees, fallen leaves dancing in the wind, and golden sunlight filtering through the morning mist and spilling into windows like liquid honey. In the fields, the crops that represent a year's worth of hard labour await the harvest, and in the orchards fruit hides coyly between the leaves, waiting to be picked. In the evening mist swirls over the fields and roads, and warm lights in the windows welcome the farmers home.

But Autumn's beauty is deceptive. Nightfall comes earlier every day, and the air turns bitterly cold. The leaves that danced merrily by day now rustle menacingly in the shadows, and warm sunlight is replaced by the silvery cold light of the moon earlier every passing day. As the light fades from the world and nature gives up her fight against the cold reality of the approaching winter, the darkness of night starts to feel more and more oppressive, like a dark force closing in on the little towns scattered around the countryside. By day, one can see the threads that bind these places together -  dirt roads and tree-lined paths, the fields and the workers in them. But by night, these connections disappear into darkness, cutting the villages off from each other. Such nights made humans feel... unwelcome. Those who had to be out at night walked quickly, their shoulders hunched against more than just cold, hurrying to get home.

It is on such dark and cold autumn nights, when the wind howls in the trees and darkness flows through the streets and coats the world like tar, that fear takes hold of human hearts and takes root in the depths of human minds.

And this was exactly what the demon was counting on.

In this contract it had not been named, but it had been given a task: to spread terror across the countryside and strike fear into the hearts of the peasants living there by any means necessary. Demands for tax and supplies had been high, and the locals were becoming restless, so the lord of the local castle had tasked the demon to clear up his mess while he continued to enjoy the fruits of his unbridled greed. Personally, the demon did not see how this behaviour could continue without consequence, but it had not been summoned for its piercing insights into the clearly unsustainable nature of its master's practices. It had been summoned for the power it wielded, and tonight it was meant to put this power to good use.

There were always whispers of ghostly forces at work in Autumn; strange shapes hiding in the mist over the fields, impossibly large animals stalking the woods at night, the cackling laughter of witches on the wind when the moon was full and bright. But lately a more tangible story had been added to the pile: the story of the headless horseman.

It was the miller who saw the knight first, though at first everyone thought he'd been drinking too much, as he'd been known to do. But the miller stuck to his story, and became very agitated when people did not believe him.

On his way home from the tavern one night he had heard hooves on the road ahead, and saw a horseman coming towards him. It was unusual in itself to be riding a horse out at night, though not particularly alarming. However, as the horseman drew close the miller started to suspect that something was wrong.  
  
The first thing he noticed was that both man and horse were very large; unusually large for any human or animal he'd ever laid eyes upon. Both horse and man were in full armour; the miller could hear the sound of metal hitting metal every time the horse's hooves hit the ground. This was highly unexpected, as there had not been war in these parts for as long as the miller had been alive. And there was something off about the rider's torch, as well; the light from it was not orange or yellow, as one might expect of a torch, but a sickly green, such as a smith's fire might be if metal shavings fell into it. Put together it was enough to make the miller feel uneasy.  
  
As the rider approached the miller's sense of unease increased. The rider was getting close now, but he showed no sign of slowing down, even though he must have spotted the miller on the road in this bright moonlit night. From his position on horseback the knight towered over the miller, but the miller could discern no eyes behind the helmet, no sign of recognition. Thoroughly spooked he leaped aside to avoid being trampled, and in that moment, he noticed that what he had taken to be a torch was not, in fact, a torch at all, but a sword; a flaming sword the size of a scythe, with green flames streaming off it like liquid. Most knights around these parts would have trouble lifting this sword with both hands, and yet the rider held it effortlessly in one hand, as though it was light as a feather. The flames seemed not to hurt him; they danced on his armour, which was also green, and then harmlessly winked out.

As the miller scrabbled up from the mud beside the road he heard the horse pull to a halt; perhaps the knight was feeling guilty for almost hitting him. The knight had stopped and raised his hand to his helmet, and for a moment the miller thought he was going to lift up his visor to speak. But instead the knight grabbed the helmet and lifted it away from his shoulders completely, revealing... nothing. There was no head on his shoulders, just the stump of a neck, dried blood coating it thickly. The knight lifted his helmet high above his head, and a booming laugh echoed through the air.

The miller felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. As the knight's horse reared the miller was already moving - he sprinted through the fields towards the woods, away from the road and the knight in green, whose laughter followed him all the way to the trees.

When he finally stopped to look back, the knight and his horse were gone.

* * *

As mentioned, the miller’s story was laughed off at first. After all, it was impossible for a man to ride around without a head. But soon more people reported seeing the spectral figure of the knight, often from further away, silhouetted against the sky with his head lifted high above his shoulders. The stories spread outwards in ripples; soon the knight was known across all of the region - and more crucially, all of the lord’s domain.

Before long, even those who had never seen the knight feared his presence at night. Going out after dark became a hazardous activity, and after the first few victims were found with their heads missing no one dared attempt such a feat at all. Rumours spread among the peasants like wildfire, and by the time the lord of the castle started his ‘investigation’ into the problem people were more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The lord’s heroic ‘battle’ against the knight would be passed along the families of the region for generations - how he confronted the green knight one night and chased him into the woods, only to return at sunrise carrying the flaming sword, which evaporated when touched by the morning light.

It was all suitably dramatic… and a load of old hogwash, of course. The demon was quite adept at creating illusions, and this one had been a masterpiece, if it did say so itself. In reality, all that had happened was its master chasing it into the woods, then waiting a suitable amount of time to build up suspense before returning to announce his glorious victory. The trick worked wonderfully well - the demon’s master saw his power over the peasants living on his lands redoubled, all ideas of dissent stripped from their minds. And when the lord later mysteriously vanished from his castle… well, that only added to the mythos of it all.

Over time humans gained more knowledge of the world around them, and slowly the belief in ghosts and legends dwindled. The headless horseman faded into legend, until he was nothing more than a story to scare kids into going to bed.

And yet... those cold autumn nights never stopped making people feel uneasy.

And there would always be those who knew how to make use of that.

 


End file.
